Just as hope was reviving another ear-splitting crash, out-voicing the previous detonation, shook the U-boat like a rat in the jaws of a terrier. Thrown first on one side and then on the other, she hurled her crew about like peas in a box, while everything that was not firmly secured was thrown about to add to the clatter and confusion.
"We are sinking!" shouted a dozen terrified voices. "The hull is giving way."
The hiss of inrushing water showed that the thick steel plates had been strained. Already the U-boat was settling towards the bed of the Atlantic.
There was just one chance, and von Loringhoven took it. At the imminent risk of being pulverised by the shells from the "Tantalus," or being rammed by the alert destroyers, he gave orders for all ballast tanks to be blown, at the same time elevating the diving rudders.
With both hands grasping the cam-action bolts of the lid of the conning-tower hatchway, von Loringhoven waited until the U-boat broke surface. With the perspiration rolling down his face, and in momentary anticipation of a salvo of shells landing on the exposed conning tower, the ober-leutnant darted for the open door, Kuhlberg and the quartermaster tying for the second place.
Less than two hundred feet above the now motionless U-boat floated Coastal Airship No. 144A, manoeuvring to repeat her strafing operations.
Promptly von Loringhoven raised his hands above his head in token of surrender, while the rest of the crew, who had taken their cue from the cowardly commander, stood in line with their arms upraised.